


A Good Whiskey Pour

by exquisitelymorose



Category: Gone Girl (2014), Gone Girl - Gillian Flynn
Genre: F/F, Getting Together, Pining, gay shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 01:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15853629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exquisitelymorose/pseuds/exquisitelymorose
Summary: Margo runs a hand through her hair, a knot forming in her stomach before she decides to continue, “I haven’t seen you in a while. Something come up at work?”“I didn’t really come here to talk about work.” Rhonda says quietly.“Oh, did uh- did we need to talk?” Margo asks. And she suddenly feels like a shy teenager during her first break up even though she’s not dating this woman and she’s in her own fucking house with no real reason to feel uncomfortable.





	A Good Whiskey Pour

Margo, jaded, unfazed, sharp Margo Dunne had to admit that in recent years she’d given up on believing she couldn't be shocked. It’d been a true mark of her personality, the way she could take most any news, hear any story, experience the worst type of people and still walk away with not much more than a shrug and a mumbled curse. What good was it to believe or not believe in people enough to truly be shocked by anything? She stayed what she would call, “Switzerland.” Neutral. But something about your brother, one you shared a womb with, the one you think you know inside out, involving you in the most certifiable and unexpected story of domestic bliss turned utterly fucking wrong in recent years, takes what you know and turns it around. 

Thats why, when she turns around one day to find Rhonda Boney stood at her bar, without an arrest warrant, she allows herself a moment of shock. And sheer confusion. They’d seen each other a few times, when things more or less “settled” between Nick and Amy but it’d always been planned by Nick. She was sure, once he and Amy took off back to New York that Rhonda would remain just a person of her weary past. So it takes her a second, like seeing a childhood teacher in a grocery store, to completely place her. Out of context Rhonda still has that face, serious and set, but without her stiff suit, in jeans and a plain black t-shirt, hair around her shoulders, she could be almost any other day drinker in The Bar. Except she’s not, she’s the detective from Nick’s case and why wouldn’t she wouldn’t want to be in any other fucking place in North Carthage? 

She’s not entirely sure what to say and the word leaves her mouth, both a question and a statement with the undertone of uncertainty she’d definitely meant to mask, “Detective.”

“Margo,” Rhonda shoots back with a small nod and a smaller smile, “off duty, though.”

“Off duty, on duty, when someone arrests you, they’re pretty much “detective” to you forever.”

Margo’s smiling but Rhondas eyes meet the bar and she suddenly feels like her harmless joke wasn’t so harmless after all, “just part of the job Margo, you know.”

She wants to make a joke, instead she just allows herself a small smile and nods, “I know. But I’m a barkeep, gotta heckle my customers. Part of the job, you know.”

It earns her a small smile and Margo admits something that of course she’s known for a long time, Rhonda is attractive. It’s always been inconsequential, like noticing your bank teller has great hair or your best friend made a particular effort on a night out, it’s just a fact that never seemed to mean much. But now, as a customer in her bar and nothing more, Margo allows herself a moment to appreciate. Toned arms, a jaw cut from marble, steely eyes that boast a level of mischief. It’s the type of woman Margo’s always known would get her in trouble if there’s been any like her in their godforsaken town. 

“So,” Margo rests her arms on the bar, one over the other as she allows her eyes to sweep over the other woman, “what brings you in? Need an update on Nick?”

“No, no. We still catch up on occasion. Told me he and Amy are doing pretty good with the kid up in New York.” 

A bitter laugh slips from Margo, “and you believe him?”

“Course not.”

“So then, social call?”

“Believe it or not Ms. Dunne, sometimes detectives just want a drink too.”

And drink they did. Margo was never really sure why Rhonda had shown up that day, just that it’d surprised her. And the woman continued to surprise her. She showed up, once very couple of weeks and Margo was always waiting, though she’d never admit to the anticipation she felt, to pour her a whiskey neat or their finest Belgian beer. Rhonda had simple taste, she enjoyed simple conversation and the most shocking to Margo, not only was she funny, she was an easy laugher. Spending evenings laughing with the woman that’d knocked her door down and had her thrown in handcuffs was not something Margo would’ve predicted. 

Though there’s something unsurprising about the way things begin to unfold. Margo has relationships with women, all of North Carthage knows that and there’d been rumours about Rhonda, the way her marriage crumbled. She can never be sure if Rhonda is really looking at her the way she seems to think, if there’s truly an appreciation behind her sober eyes and a downright desire in her less than sober looks. But they spend enough time with flirtatious glances, teasing each other with lines, toeing an invisible boundary that if Margo was to find out there was really nothing happening between her and Rhonda, she’d have to admit to a little surprise. Then again, stranger things had happened. 

Business picks up enough at The Bar that Margo is able to hire an assistant manager, Trevor, and give herself some time away. But in the weeks after Rhonda makes herself a regular, she finds herself taking fewer and fewer evenings off. They haven’t reached a place where she can send her a text, “hey, you thinking of stopping by tonight?” Well, maybe they have but Margo can’t bring herself to do it. And the life of a detective is an unpredictable one at best. If theres a pattern to the days and times that Rhonda shows up, Margo has yet to find out. So, she mostly sticks around. Convinces herself that it’s her control issues and not just the want that lives low in her belly. 

When over a week passes and Rhonda doesn’t show, Margo tells herself that something must have come up. Maybe a new Nick or Amy or both, that Rhonda will be busy with so she relents. She helps Trevor unload a few kegs, brings in a couple of boxes and then excuses herself for the evening. For some reason she’s tired and achey so she picks up wine, a rarity, some popcorn and small bag of mixed chocolate bars and heads home for what she assumes will be a quiet evening on the couch, pretending to be interested in whatever documentary happens to come up. It’s why she has to admit that, for what feels like the 100th time in her recent life, she’s surprised. Surprised to hear a light knock at her door. 

She almost doesn’t think it really happened. Margo doesn’t get visitors. It must have been next door or something in the backyard so she pulls the throw blanket tighter around herself and puts her eyes back to the screen. But then it comes again. With a sigh she throws the blanket from herself and makes a quick move to grab the wine glass on the coffee table that it nearly knocks over. Then, she’s throwing open the door and trying to stop her eyes from bugging out at the sight. 

Hands shoved in the pockets of her black leather jacket, is Boney on her door step. She looks to Margo and smiles, small and a little unsure, “oh, I’m sorry, were you sleeping?”

Margo looks down at the rumpled clothes, a pair of black striped pyjama shorts and a red flannel with the buttons most certainly in the wrong holes.

“No, no. I wasn’t.”

“Oh. Okay.” The two stand there for a moment, surveying each other. Margo waits for her to say something but all she can see is a small nervousness that intensifies with every passing beat so she steps aside and holds the door open.

“Come in!” 

Rhonda mutters a small thanks and ducks under Margos arm and into the house. When she closes the door and steps up behind the older woman, Margo catches a hint of her scent. It goes straight between her legs. She see’s Rhonda glancing around the room. She’s been here before but it was different then, on the job and suspicious of Margo. She wasn’t looking through the eyes of a curious… friend? It’s little unneat, especially where she’d been holed up on the couch and suddenly seems a little too dark and intimate with one candle flickering in the corner. So Margo claps her hands against her thighs.

“Don’t be too intimated by the glamour.”

“It’s cozy.”

“Thanks,” Margo brushes past her, “take your shoes off. I’ll get you wine if you want?”

“That’d be great.”

Margo makes her way back into the kitchen, unsure if she even has a second wine glass? Surely, somewhere. She finds one and while she’s in the kitchen she checks the phone that’s been plugged in on her counter. Maybe Rhonda had texted her about stopping by? But the phone shows nothing. So she makes her way back into the living room and tries to ignore the thrill that runs through her at the sight of the other woman on her couch. She looks tired and a little unsure, shoved into the corner opposite of where Margos head had rested. 

“So,” Margo begins as she sets the wine glass on the coffee table and begins to fill it “you’re making house calls now? Determined to drink me out of bar and home?”

She hands the glass to Rhonda who smiles gratefully, “well I wanted to have a drink and Trevor said you’d likely be at home, doing nothing. I probably should’ve called first.”

“You know Trevor could have served you, right?”

“And you know I don’t go to the bar just for the drinks, right?”

Margo stops, mid scooch as she settles in the couch and turns her head to look at Rhonda. She’s not expecting to be pinned by her gaze, certain and set but here they are. And Margo’s not really sure what her next move should be. So she settles back and fixes the brunette with her own eyes. 

“That so?” 

“That’s so. You do pour a good whiskey though.” 

Margos not really good at this. She suspects Rhonda might be because here she is, on her couch, making small admittances that she’s sure she’d only make under the influence of something much stronger than this half a bottle of red. She thinks she could probably just put the wine glass down and kiss the woman, like she’s been tempted to do a dozen different times for a few months now. But then what? What would they be? What would they do? Would one of them have to get scared and run from this thing, their perfect evenings and satisfying talks- between the two of them, that feels inevitable. So she clicks her tongue instead.

“How else would I keep those repeat customers such as yourself, Detective?” Great Margo, sarcasm, that’s always a fun alternative to emotion. 

She think she sees disappointment flash in Rhondas face as she silently lifts the wine glass to her mouth, looking anywhere other than Margo.

Margo runs a hand through her hair, a knot forming in her stomach before she decides to continue, “I haven’t seen you in a while. Something come up at work?”

“I didn’t really come here to talk about work.” Rhonda says quietly. 

“Oh, did uh- did we need to talk?” Margo asks. And she suddenly feels like a shy teenager during her first break up even though she’s not dating this woman and she’s in her own fucking house with no real reason to feel uncomfortable. 

And Rhonda just says “no” anyways, leaving the room to feel awkward and just a little tense. 

“What’re you here for then?”

A small puff of air comes through Rhondas lips, a strangled bitter sound as she turns to Margo, “I don’t know Margo. To be with you? Or am I not allowed to say that?” 

Nothing comes out as Margo looks at the other woman, eyes a little wide. They stay like that for a second, eyes locked before Rhonda settles her wine glass on the table and stands, “well,” she breathes loudly, “I guess that’s it then.” But as she turns to move toward the door, Margo shoots up. 

“Wait!” She throws a hand out before they both move to cover her face as she groans, “don’t. Don’t go. I’m just - I suck. I know I suck.” Her hands finally fall from her eyes and she looks at Rhonda who has turned toward her, arms folded over her chest, “you are allowed to say that. Jesus, I fucking want you to say that. I’m just no good at-“ her hand motions between the two of them, “at this.” 

“No shit.”

“But don’t go, please.”

Rhonda sighs. Margo does too. And then they both sit back into their spots on the couch. 

“You know we’re old, right?” Rhonda finally asks and Margo laughs, a real laugh. 

“Speak for yourself.”

“Oh, shut up.” Rhonda laughs too. 

“I know we are.” She sighs, “somehow, it doesn’t make it any easier for me.”

“It doesn’t have to be a… big thing, you know? It’s not like we’re 27 and trying to get married and have kids.” Margo sips her wine as the words wash over her, Rhonda continues, “I just like being around you, Margo. I’d like to spend more time with you and I’d like to be able to-“ 

She trails off but Margo doesn’t care, she sets her glass on the coffee table and reaches for Rhondas to do the same. Then she’s cupping the older woman jaw, running a thumb over her skin. 

“I want to do this too,” she finally whispers against her lips and captures them with her own.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm so late to the game and this fic is so not exciting at all but I just discovered this is a pairing and I was so excited, I had to write something. I hope this inspires someone to bring these characters back for more.


End file.
